Love, Handled
by Tara the Duchess of Nil
Summary: Thomas thinks about Jimmy. A lot. Ungentlemanly behavior ensues but sweetness and sadness follow. Don't be scared!
1. Chapter 1

_Ah, yes._

A pure, sweet jolt of electricity, warm and tingling, shot through Thomas' fingers the moment he first touched the soft, smooth, golden skin of Jimmy's neck.

It had happened quite by accident. Jimmy was playing piano after dinner one night and Thomas, nervous as hell around Jimmy any time of day, was pleased to find himself chatting amicably and almost confidently with the footman. Thomas had even managed to feign a sense of casualness, resting his elbow on the top of the piano and leaning his hip into it to calm his wobbly knees.

_Keep breathing, keep breathing_, Thomas said to himself as he tried not to swoon at Jimmy's nimble hands running up and down the keys. _And don't look down at his mouth. Just focus on what he's actually saying, you stupid git._

Mrs. Hughes' dulcet burr interrupted Thomas' thoughts. "You play well, James," she called over her shoulder.

Thomas was floating. He discovered that his limbs suddenly had a mind of their own. He stood up straight and moved behind Jimmy. "There's no end to Jimmy's talents, is there?" he heard his voice say as watched his hands wrap themselves around Jimmy's shoulders, giving them a slight squeeze. He realized with a shock that the middle and index fingers of his left hand were resting on bare skin. He sensed Jimmy's pulse, feeling the life flowing through the young man, and found himself rapidly becoming very, very hard.

"His lordship's gone up." Four murmured words sliced through Thomas' ecstasy.

O'Brien. _Goddamn cow._

Thomas let his fingers drag slowly across Jimmy's neck, and attempted to savor the last milliseconds of contact as he stepped away to attend to Lord Grantham. He did his best to give O'Brien a cold, unaffected stare as he walked past her, his erection so tight in his too-small trousers that it was almost difficult to walk.

O'Brien tried to catch up with Thomas on his way upstairs, but upon hearing the distinctive swoosh of her long black skirt against the bannister, he quickened his pace and his awkward stride turned into a painful trot.

"Whatever's the matter, Thomas?" O'Brien sneered after him as he made his way toward Lord Grantham's room. "You've got Bates' job … now you've got his limp as well?"

Thomas kept walking.

"D'ja need a walking _stick_? Or perhaps a _stiff_ drink would help," O'Brien called down the hallway as Thomas opened Lord Grantham's door.

For one of the few times in his life, he had decided to take the high road and not look back.

Lord Grantham was puttering about his bedroom, looking out the window, checking his reflection in the mirror, and inspecting his dozen or so snuffboxes for any egregious nicks or scratches.

Thomas stood patiently holding Lord Grantham's dressing gown over his right arm and rocked back and forth slightly on the balls of his feet. _Jesus, can we just get on with it. Why must you always be so fucking slow? _He flexed his left hand, trying to recreate the sensation of Jimmy's skin on his fingertips.

"Everything alright, Barrow?" Lord Grantham asked as he put the lid down on the case containing his snuffboxes.

"Yes, my Lord. My hand's just giving me a spot of bother tonight. Must be the weather turning," Thomas said, unfolding the dressing gown and holding it up to slip over Lord Grantham's shoulders.

A line of concern furrowed Lord Grantham's brow, "Ah, I see. You may want to have Dr. Clarkson take a look if it ever becomes too painful," he said.

_Like what's about to burst from my trousers_, Thomas thought while smoothing down the silk fabric. "It's nothing an honest day's work won't cure," he said pleasantly.

Lord Grantham turned and waited for Thomas to tie the robe closed. "Hmpf. Well, an honest day's work is the tonic for any man's ills, I dare say," he proclaimed.

_Honest day's work_, Thomas inwardly groaned. _Says the man who can't dress himself and needs his newspapers ironed._

"I quite agree, my Lord," Thomas said, stepping back to admire his work. "I'm certain I'll be right as rain tomorrow."

_This is the tonic for my ills._

Thomas shut the door to his room and shoved the desk chair under the doorknob. He kicked off his shoes and practically danced out of his clothes with hurriedly folded each piece neatly and urged himself to move faster.

_Come on, come on, COME ON_!

Finally undressed, he jumped onto the cot and pulled his undershirt up so his chest was exposed and then yanked his underwear down to his thighs, hissing in pain as he finally freed his erection from its confines.

In a nod to propriety, Thomas always kept his undershirt and underwear on in some fashion. He particularly liked the feeling of constriction around his thighs, like he was still partially dressed and getting away with something illicit. Much like he had the day before …

_Under the guise of needing a rest because of a sore back, Thomas had crept into Jimmy's room while he was away on his half day. He could barely breathe standing in the middle of the small, sunny room, completely overwhelmed at the intimacy of being surrounded by Jimmy everywhere he turned. A photograph of a smiling man and woman on his beside table. A faded postcard of the Eiffel Tower tacked above the headboard. A well-loved deck of cards thrown onto the floor, the box threatening to spill its contents._

_Thomas walked over and stood in front of Jimmy's dresser and gazed down in awe at the array of objects that were fortunate enough to find themselves on or in Jimmy every day. _

_He traced his fingers on the top of a small jar. _

_"I'm jealous of his damn pomade," Thomas whispered with a sad laugh._

_He raked the bristles of Jimmy's hairbrush trying to find any loose golden strings and put them into his pocket with a soft pat for safekeeping. He was tempted to slide Jimmy's toothbrush into his mouth but before he wrapped his fingers around it, he caught a glimpse of himself in one of Jimmy's many mirrors. The reflection he saw was one of a man he barely knew anymore._

What the hell are you doing? Who ARE you? You are SO pathetic.

_Overcome by embarrassment, Thomas suddenly backed away from the dresser and stumbled until his legs bumped into Jimmy's cot. He plopped down onto the thin mattress in disgust, put his elbows on his knees and laid his head in his hands. He ran his fingers through his hair and choked back a sob. It hurt him so much to _have_ so much within his reach and it had been so long … so damn long … since he had felt the love of another man._

_Thomas sat up and tenderly loosened a stray thread from the coverlet. He tucked it into his pocket for safekeeping, too. He sighed in surrender, shaking his head at the ridiculousness he felt. _You've gone this far_, he thought. _If you're going to sink even lower, might as well enjoy the ride.

_He inhaled deeply and gingerly put his head on Jimmy's pillow and pulled it close to his face. His nostrils were filled with Jimmy's scent that was almost like the seaside, the way the salt and sun collect on the breeze. _

Do you ever lie here at night and think of me?_ he wondered. _Am I in your dreams?

_He closed his eyes in quiet joy. _You _are_ my dream.


	2. Chapter 2

Thomas thought back to the day in Jimmy's empty room and tried to conjure up Jimmy's scent, then quickly tore off the glove on his left hand and held the two fingers that had made contact with Jimmy's skin against his lips. He lay still for a moment and sweetly kissed his knuckles and slid the two fingers into his mouth with a moan. (Thomas would never, ever admit this to any lover, but he was always incredibly aroused by the sound of his own moans.) He sucked on his fingers then drew them lightly out through his teeth over and over again, his fingers a poor substitute for Jimmy's what-Thomas-knew-would-be-as-beautiful-as the-rest-of-him cock.

With the right hand, Thomas began his way down his own chest, stopping to brush against and then pinch his nipples. He hissed and twisted on the cot and removed his fingers from his mouth. _Got to … slow down … not get carried … away_, Thomas stammered in his thoughts.

He combed both fingers through the dark hair that sprinkled his chest and thought of Jimmy's first day at Downton when he saw the new footman getting dressed through the crack in the door. He'd never seen anything quite like it. So smooth like marble, Thomas felt practically simian compared to Jimmy's bare expanse. _I want you so much_, he had thought in that brief instant—and now even more—and whimpered at his longing for Jimmy's hands to touch him.

Thomas slipped his hands down to his new, slightly rounded (much to his dismay) belly and caressed it in circles, softly groaning, "Oh Jimmy please … don't stop … oh god, Jimmy." He tried to put an exchange that occurred the previous evening out of his mind, but felt O'Brien's caustic words spilling over into his bliss …

_After dinner, Daisy had come into the servants' hall with plates of treacle tart. She stopped at Thomas with the last serving and sighed, "Ivy's gone and sliced it unevenly. Looks like you get the biggest piece, Mr. Barrow."_

_Thomas looked around the table and chuckled, "And it's my favorite! Aren't I the lucky one!" He picked up his fork and happily started to dig in._

_"Lucky?" O'Brien snorted from across the table. "Careful there. You'll be as big as Bates soon enough." _

_(Thankfully, Jimmy—always unable to sit still for too long—was too deep in thought, trying to pick out a tune on the piano he had heard in the Grantham Arms earlier that day. Anna was still upstairs appeasing Lady Mary's fussiness while Bates was still languishing in prison.)_

_Thomas chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, and then said icily, "Well, it's worked for him. He's got Anna, and who've you got?" He raised an eyebrow then returned to the tart, stabbing it purposefully with his fork._

_"I could ask the same of you," O'Brien replied, pursing her lips. "You're not exactly fighting off the ladies, are you? Or suitors for that matter."_

_Alfred and the hall boys snickered at the end of the table, not quite sure what they were laughing at; it was just exciting to witness any opportunity for Mr. Barrow to become flustered. Alfred stretched out one long arm and quietly slid the tart sitting in front of Jimmy's empty place toward the hall boys, one of whom scraped it onto his plate._

_Thomas inhaled deeply, trying to think of a devastating comeback while Mrs. Hughes trilled, "Now, Miss O'Brien, that's quite enough …" _

_Suddenly there was a commotion at the far end of the table. Jimmy had returned to an empty plate at his seat. He looked at the hall boys in disgust. "Oi! You! Give it back!" shrieked._

_The hall boy (Donald or Ronald … no one could remember) quickly shoved the entire piece in his mouth and gleefully chewed open-mouthed at Jimmy. Jimmy then leaned over the table and swung wildly at Ronald (or Donald) who jumped up and rolled his hands into fists while coughing out crumbs._

_"James! Donald! Ermmm … Ronald! Enough of this nonsense!" Mr. Carson bellowed from the head of the table. "I will not tolerate fisticuffs over a pilfered tart. Or for ANY reason for that matter."_

_"Sorry, Mr. Carson," Jimmy and Ronald (or Donald) mumbled simultaneously … Donald (or Ronald) still coughing. They both sat down heavily onto their chairs grumbling._

_Thomas seized the opportunity. "Here Ji … ummm, _James_, have mine," Thomas said amicably and passed his plate to Jimmy. (Thomas was sorely tempted to try and feed Jimmy with his fork, watching his lips slide down, then licking the crumbs away with his soft, moist tongue and ah … he decided to quickly shut down that notion.)_

_Jimmy's face lit up. "Thanks ever so much, Mr. Barrow," he said as he shoveled a large bite into his mouth. "You are MY hero," he muttered through a sloppy mouthful._

_"James …" Mr. Carson growled slowly, "Might I remind you that although you are off duty, you must always comport yourself with the utmost in decorum. To my knowledge, you were not raised in a barn."_

_"Noooooo, Mr. Carson," Jimmy mooed, then tilted his head down to his plate in exaggerated shame and raised his eyes flirtatiously to Thomas, who smiled and blushed in delight like a besotted schoolgirl._

_Mr. Carson sighed heavily while O'Brien stared at Thomas and squeezed her mouth into a tight smirk._

Thomas stopped his caresses, rested his hands on his belly and sighed. _Jimmy doesn't want a fat old man, _he thought._ Can't do anything about the old, but will stop eating all superfluous food starting tomorrow. Or perhaps the next day … depending on tomorrow night's pudding._

Thomas raised his arms above his head and stretched. His erection was beginning to soften and he desperately willed it to harden again while massaging his groin and thighs with both hands. His breath quickened as his mind searched for the right scenario, with Jimmy—always Jimmy—as his object of love.

_Jimmy the Virgin._

Thomas had never been anyone's first, and was dying, _dying_ to be given the honor. His first time had left him tearful, bleeding, and sore for days. He had already decided that he would be patient, sweet, and tender, because there would be plenty of time to explore every aspect of pleasure on the nights to follow.

But where would it happen?

_Not in either of their rooms— Thomas wanted it to be special and not an uncomfortable fumble with any telltale squeaking of the bed frame. _

_Not in the garden—Thomas was terrified of bees after helplessly standing by at the age of eight in the garden while his young cousin was stung and suffocated to death. _

_Not by the sea—the thought of potentially getting sand in his nether regions made Thomas shudder. _

_Not in the stables—the smell of manure and the buzzing of flies did not create an environment conducive to romance._

_In the Ripon bedroom—yes. Thomas was very fond of the upstairs guest bedroom that had a southern exposure overlooking the flowerbeds, with lavender walls and a rich plum duvet and … pillows! Real pillows, a pile big enough to devour anyone lucky enough to enjoy a night in the room's silky embrace._

He pictured Jimmy's sweet, golden head sinking into the yielding pillow, and looking up with an expression full of love and fear and desire. Just the splendor of Jimmy beneath him, ready and open, made Thomas shiver and moan.

Thomas ran a fingertip across the head of his cock to spread the liquid that was beginning to bead from the slit. He stroked his cock slowly with one hand and cupped the other around his bollocks, squeezing them softly. He then encircled the head into a tight fist, imagining himself engulfed in Jimmy's enticing tightness and warmth.

Thomas began to rock up and down quietly on the mattress, mindful of any excess noise his actions might make.

"I'll be so gentle," he said to the ceiling, "So gentle, my love." Both his hands and his hips started to move faster at the thought of Jimmy pulling him closer, digging his nails into his back, and clinging to Thomas as though he might slip away forever.

"Don't be frightened." Thomas whispered. "I'll take care of you … oh Jimmy."

Thomas could almost hear Jimmy's moans as he surrendered to the sensations. Thomas put the back of one hand against his mouth and mumbled, "My love. Jimmy … oh god, oh, god, oh god." He was getting closer and closer, and heard Jimmy groan in his mind, as clear as if it were the younger man's mouth desperately breathing it in his ear, "Thomas … god … Thomas."

Thomas cried out as he bit his knuckles, and arched his back over and over again as he came, sobbing Jimmy's name.

He lay on the bed heaving as the aftershocks rippled through his body. Once he could see clearly again, Thomas rolled onto his side and pulled the extra pillow he used for occasions like this from underneath his cot. It belonged to Bates, and in a moment of inspiration, Thomas had snatched it from the former valet cum accused murder's room.

_Bates' pillow was thicker than those of the rest of the staff. He claimed he needed it to help straighten his spine to release any discomfort that might affect his leg._

_"Bollocks!" Thomas had barked when O'Brien relayed this particular tidbit. "Just because he and his lordship were thick as thieves in the war doesn't mean he deserves any better than the rest of us."_

_One day,_ _Thomas had left Bates' room with the pillow and nearly bumped into Mrs. Hughes. He tried in vain to quickly hide the pillow behind his back and cursed himself for not hearing her omnipresent gaggle of keys jangling down the hallway._

_Mrs. Hughes leaned slightly to the side and shook her head at the white fabric peeking out from behind Thomas' black jacket. _

_"Really, Mr. Barrow? Stealing the poor man's pillow!" she cried._

_"What? It's for me back! It's not like he's going to be using it anytime soon."_

_"If you'd wanted another pillow all you'd had to do is __ask__."_

_He saw the usual look of disappointment on Mrs. Hughes' otherwise kind face. It was an expression he'd seen far too often in his lifetime on so many other faces, both young and old. He decided to turn on the charm and the "upstairs voice" that had saved him in the past._

_"I didn't want to trouble either you or the maids, Mrs. Hughes. You are always so dreadfully busy keeping the house in top form," Thomas said soothingly. "I promise that as soon as we receive the joyous news that Mr. Bates has been exonerated, I'll put it back. With a freshly laundered pillowcase, of course."_

_Mrs. Hughes narrowed her eyes at him in suspicion._

_"I'll even leave a rose on it if you'd like. And, of course, you'll get one too for being such a kindhearted spirit and an inspiration to us all," he finished, smiled his most sincere tight-lipped grin, and waited for Mrs. Hughes to fall for every word._

_Mrs. Hughes rolled her eyes. She had heard enough. She waved her hand and sighed, "Go on then, take the pillow but you'd best believe once Mr. Bates comes home, that pillow is his."_

_"Anything for you, Mrs. Hughes!"_

_ She shooed Thomas away and said, "That's a promise I'm going to hold you to, Mr. Barrow, and no mistake!"_

_Thomas walked triumphantly to his room with his prize._

In his afterglow, Thomas rubbed his flaccid, sticky cock against the bare pillow, smearing it with his seed. _See how he likes that, the smug self-righteous bastard,_ Thomas thought.

The servants' cots were insultingly small and narrow, with flimsy excuses for pillows. Thomas could never fully stretch out on it, always ending up slightly curled on his side to sleep. He couldn't imagine (or didn't want to imagine) how Alfred folded his lanky frame in his cot in a comfortable fashion.

But even if he had just an inch of space to himself and barely caught a wink of sleep, it would be worth it to have Jimmy next to him every night. Thomas had imagined what would happen post-love even more than the act itself; the need for closeness and warmth greater than his desire for release.

He had enacted it virtually every night since Jimmy's first appearance in the kitchen. Clutching Bates' pillow against his chest as if it were Jimmy, Thomas had always planned to be on the outside, acting like a shield from the rest of the world for the younger man. Thomas lay on his side and imagined breathing in the warm scent of Jimmy's hair. Placing small kisses on the back of his neck. Stroking his hip. Whispering sonnets into his ear, or silly stories of unicorns and dragons. Chiding him for his cold feet or for stealing too much of the blanket.

Thomas hugged the pillow, sighed contentedly, and smiled into the darkness.

_Soon. Everything will come together for us soon._


End file.
